Winter Wasn't My Season
by monet.st.croix
Summary: When Danielle Osbourne comes to the mansion, she learns that sometimes it’s hard to find the difference between what you want and what you need. Pyro/OC in a twisted sort of love story. Maybe.
1. Chapter 1: Blowing Up

The first chapter is an introduction to my character, but I promise the next one will feature the mansion and all the characters you know and love. This is rated M for mature themes in the chapters to come, especially the unhealthy nature of the relationship between Danielle and Pyro, as well as coarse language and violence. It would hardly be a Pyro fic without them. Pyro will not be a mushy lovesick dope, so no worries. I believe in Pyro in his full badass, snarky glory. I hope you enjoy it!

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Danielle studied her reflection in the mirror. Her long white sheath dress was simple, but elegant. She marveled at the job the stylist had done on her dark curly hair, now hanging pin-straight to her collar bone. She moved to the dresser and took long white gloves from their box and carefully drew them up her arms. Her hands were shaking.

This was it--the cotillion, or debutantes' ball to the proletariat. This was her night to parade around in a beautiful dress on the arm of William Connell, her beautiful, on-again beau who was home from West Point. Things couldn't be better. Then why did she have this gnawing feeling that something awful was about to happen?

"Dear? Can I come in?" Her mother was knocking on the door. Danielle opened it to see her mother looking extremely elegant in a new burgundy Chanel number, holding a small white box in her hand. Danielle felt relieved. She looked sober.

The second her mother stepped into her room, Danielle knew otherwise. Her mother's steps were uneven. On the rare occasion that she was sober, her stride was measured. Danielle had thought that perhaps her mother might want remember tonight, or at least that she'd spare Danielle one night's embarrassment, but apparently not.

Danielle's mother was Lydia Osbourne, and she was what Danielle liked to think of as an occasional drunk. As in whenever there was an occasion—a birthday, a garden party, even a charity auction—she got sauced. Lydia Osbourne had once been Lydia Clark, a free spirited activist who fell in love with the heir of a New York fortune. She gave up who she was for love and became who she thought a rich man's wife should be. She donned the costume of a wealthy housewife, playing hostess and philanthropist with the wives of other wealthy men in the suburbs of New York. But somewhere along the line, Lydia snapped. For some reason, she couldn't do it anymore. So now when she had to play the part, she drank herself silly.

Danielle had pieced this together from old photographs and some stories from her father. Some of the story was her own imagination; a hope that her mother had a reason for what she was doing to her family. Danielle sighed and looked into her mother's beautiful face. Oh well, things could have been worse.

"You look stunning. William won't be able to keep his hands off you." Danielle felt herself flush as she wondered if normal mothers said things like that.

"I have a present for you. Your grandmother gave it to me on my cotillion. And now I'm giving it to you!" Her eyes gleamed with amusement and her hands were unsteady as she opened the small white bow. Inside was a diamond brooch in the shape of a flower.

"Thank you, Mother. It's lovely." She smiled tightly and tried not to think that a better present would have been sobriety. It really was a beautiful brooch.

"Let me pin it on you."

"No, that's alright. I can do it myself," Danielle said, keeping her voice calm. Her mother was in no condition to be wielding sharp objects.

"No, let me!"

"No, really, I can-"

"Please, I want to. Now hold still." Danielle swallowed hard and obediently stood still. Her mother's fingers fumbled with the clasp. Her hand shook suddenly and the needle pierced Danielle's pale skin. Danielle bit her lip hard and made no cry, but the mirror behind her suddenly shattered. She whipped around to see the tiny shards of it all over the white carpet. She turned back to her mother who was looking from Danielle to the mirror with large frightened eyes. A drunken hiccup broke the silence.

"Oh, my," her mother squeaked.

---

The mall was packed a week before Christmas and Danielle was one of hundreds doing last-minute shopping. There were beautiful displays out for the holidays in every store—trees, snowflakes, gold everything—but she passed them all by. She had finally tracked down the perfect gift for her father and she was like a woman possessed.

She has located a rare edition of his favorite book, _The Great Gatsby._ He would love it. She and her father were very close and she had spent ages trying to come up with the perfect gift for him. She had just bought her mother some perfume. If she didn't like it, it wouldn't matter. Danielle's paternal grandparents would be there on Christmas ,meaning her mother would be too drunk to notice presents.

Perhaps this gift could bridge the gap that seemed to have formed between her and her father since her cotillion six months ago. Six months ago when the mirror incident had occurred. Six months ago when her mother had told her father Danielle was a mutant.

He hadn't been entirely convinced, but he was still scared.

That was the only incident he knew about. Danielle didn't tell him about the times at school when her pencil would burst in her hand or the times late at night when she went for a glass of water and the glass would shatter all over the kitchen floor. She would just clean it up, try not to cry, and empty the contents of her stomach into the nearest toilet.

Danielle didn't like crowds. She'd ordered most of her gifts online just to avoid them. Sometimes she could barely stand the parties her parents threw. She hated it when everyone was so close together. It made her feel like she couldn't breathe. She hated not having any room to move.

She was getting jostled on all sides. She was trying to make her way through the crowd in front of the toy store, parents trying to snag one of the store's limited supply of some new, hot toy, to the bookstore on the other side. The more she pushed, the more they pushed back. She was starting to panic. She hated small spaces. She tried to take deep breaths, but all she took in was the smell of sweat. People just kept getting closer and she could feel herself beginning to hyperventilate. She had to get out. She made one last desperate charge, but ran straight into a large, middle-aged man.

"Hey, my kid deserves this toy as much as yours, jerk." Danielle tried to say that she was sorry, but she felt like she couldn't breathe. She turned away from the man, now trying to get out any way she could.

"Hey, I'm talking to you. Hey!" He grabbed Danielle's shoulder hard and tried to whip her around. But the instant he made contact, her anxiety peaked. All of a sudden, Danielle felt a splatter of something warm and wet on her face and neck and all over her clothes. She looked down at her white button-up to find herself covered in blood. The man was holding his wrist, now just a bloody stump, and screaming. The crowd had stopped jostling. She took a look around her. Blood was everywhere. Everyone was staring at her.

Danielle considered herself a sensible girl, and in this situation, she saw only one sensible option: run like hell.


	2. Chapter 2: Leaving Home

So in this chapter, Danielle and John meet. Not everybody shows up in this chapter, but they'll be here eventually. Hopefully, this will also help clarify what Danielle's power is. Enjoy!

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Chapter 2: Leaving Home

"She's leaving home. Bye, bye." –_She's Leaving Home_, The Beatles

Danielle sat outside her father's study, hands neatly folded in her lap, back straight, ankles crossed. Her desperation showed only in the constant shifting of her dark green eyes and the weary shadows on her face. She was a debutante awaiting her death sentence.

Her father had been in there for hours. After she had washed the blood off and changed her clothes, she'd rooted herself to this spot, waiting.

She'd told him what happened. She had to. This wasn't a pencil or a mirror, this was a person. She had hurt someone, and even if she hadn't meant to, they'd be out for her blood. After all, she wasn't human anymore; she was a mutant. So she needed her father's protection. He had money, he had connections; surely something could be figured out. Perhaps the man could be compensated quietly, though Danielle couldn't imagine how much she would charge for the loss of her entire right hand.

The door opened. Danielle's head snapped up to see her father's face, still handsome, but drawn with fatigue and fear. He was afraid not only for her, but of her, she realized.

"Sweetheart," he said tightly. "I have a solution, I think."

Danielle's face melted with relief. "Really?"

"Yes. Secretary McCoy is a friend of a friend and I've been speaking with him for the past while. I told him about your…condition." His face twitched slightly, but he continued. "He told me about a safe place you can go, a school for…people like you."

"Oh. Alright." Starting over would be good. She didn't want her friends to ever know about this.

"It's a boarding school in Westchester. Dr. McCoy and I agree that it would be the best place for you."

"That's not far. I could go right after the holidays. I could come home on weekends."

He made a move as if to touch her hand, but then thought better of it and pulled away.

"I don't think that's a good idea."

Danielle felt her stomach sink. "Why not?"

"Danielle, if you stay here or even visit, you run the risk of being recognized. No one can know you did this. You could be jailed. And most definitely, the government would be watching you the rest of your life. Do you want that?"

"No. But what about that man? Shouldn't we pay him or do something for him?"

"There's nothing we can do. If we did that, they'd know it was you."

Danielle felt guilt churning inside her stomach, but the baser instinct of self-preservation won out. "Won't people wonder where I've gone? What will you tell them?"

Her father gave her a wry smile. "That you were invited to attend a boarding school in Switzerland. Now go pack."

"Will they really believe that?"

"Maybe yes, maybe no. They'll probably think you're pregnant," he chuckled. "But they won't suspect this."

"Why not?"

"Because in order to believe that it could happen to us, they'd have to believe it could happen to them."

She slowly got up and walked the familiar path to her room. Her father was sending her away. It was for her own good, she understood that. But she couldn't shake the feeling that one of his major motivations was saving face. You lose clients when your daughter is a dangerous mutant.

From the doorway of her room, she could see her father pacing outside his study on the floor below.

"Dad?" she called.

He stopped pacing and looked up. "Yes, sweetie?"

"Merry Christmas."

---

After an hour of packing, another hour of trying to fit it all in her Jeep, and one more hour of driving, she'd arrived that evening at Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters. They'd politely taken her things to her new room and promptly subjected her to an intake interview. That was what they did in asylums. Maybe that was what being a mutant was like, being crazy—everyone afraid of you for what you couldn't control. She was imagining herself pretending to be deaf and dumb, sweeping floors, One-Flew-Over-the-Cuckoo's-Nest style.

"Hello," a voice broke into her thoughts. "I'm Rogue, your new roommate."

The girl in front of Danielle looked about her age. Her accent indicated a Southern upbringing. She was pretty, in a dark sort of way. Her features were soft and friendly and her voice was sweet and easy, but she was dressed head to toe in black. Her lips were bright red and there was a shocking stripe of white in the front of her dark hair. Danielle noted her clunky boots and strange long gloves with distaste. This girl seemed odd.

She held out a gloved hand to shake and Danielle took it politely.

"It's lovely to meet you. I'm Danielle Osbourne."

"You too. Why don't we go to the lounge and I can introduce you to some of the other students?"

"I'd like that. Thank you." She would like that. She had a suspicion that she and Rogue were not going to be best friends.

So Danielle trailed after Rogue like a puppy, students regarding Danielle with curious glances and whispers.

When they reached the lounge, Danielle saw him. He was beautiful. His sandy hair was neatly trimmed, his eyes were a clear blue, and his square jaw was set off by a perfect smile. He saw them in the doorway and his smiled widened. He turned from the cute Asian girl he'd been talking to and made for them. Something about that smile seemed like it was just for her. He was coming closer and closer and she thought she might be blinded by his radiance. He stopped right in front of them and…wrapped his arm firmly around Rogue's waist and kissed her hair.

No. She and Rogue were not going to get along.

"Bobby, this is Danielle. She just got here."

"Nice to meet you. Welcome. If there's anything I can help you with, just ask." Bobby was all smiles. So was Rogue. Well, Danielle would have been too if she had a boyfriend like Bobby…

"Hey Bobby, I need to kick your ass in Mortal Kom—who's the rich bitch?" A boy of average height, average build, brown hair, and moderate attractiveness approached them. Danielle flushed a little. Perhaps the pearls and high-heeled boots had been overkill. She'd wanted to make a good impression and appearance mattered.

"And this," Rogue said, rolling her eyes, "is John Allerdyce, a legend in his own mind."

John rolled his eyes right back. "So," John said, turning back to Danielle. "What can you do?"

"Excuse me?" Danielle was confused. Do? She could do a lot of things. She was a fast reader, a decent writer and a proficient cook when the mood struck her.

"You know," John was looking at her like she was stupid, "your power."

She was still coming up with nothing. Power? She wasn't a comic book hero or something.

"What he means to say, very rudely, is why are you here?" Rogue supplied helpfully.

Oh. I had never occurred to her to regard it as a positive thing, like an ability or power. It was what had gotten her kicked out of her house a week before Christmas. "I—um, things…I blow stuff up."

"Cool," John said, looking mildly impressed.

Danielle wasn't really comfortable with this topic of conversation. "So I didn't see many kids here. Is the school very small?" Danielle inquired, trying to get her mind off that man holding what was left of his arm and all that blood.

"Yeah, it is a small school, but some kids went home for the holidays. They'll be back after New Years," Bobby answered.

"Oh, that's right. Now that I think of it, I'm surprised there are this many kids here."

"Yeah, well, most of don't have homes that want us around, sweetheart," John bit out.

"I'm sorry," Danielle said evenly, putting on an apologetic smile. She wasn't that sorry. She was in the same boat and this guy was a jackass.

"Excuse me, I'm sorry to interrupt, but are those Nanette Lepore boots?" the cute Asian girl Danielle had seen earlier asked her, a bright smile on her face.

"Yes, they are. She's my favorite designer," Danielle returned the smile genuinely. Finally, someone who spoke her language. This girl was dressed a little oddly to be a Nanette Lepore fan in her hot pink top and bright blue pants, but fashion was a topic Danielle could get into. She extended her hand to the girl. "Hi, I'm Danielle."

"Jubilee. I'm more a Betsy Johnson kind of girl, but I can always appreciate a beautiful pair of boots. My roommate Kitty is heavy into Michael Kors. She's at home right now, but you'll meet her later."

Danielle looked to the other faces in the group. Bobby and Rogue looked politely confused, and John looked horrifically bored. "Sorry, too much girl talk?" Danielle flashed Bobby her best smile.

John groaned and hit Bobby's shoulder. Bobby smiled back at Danielle, straight white teeth exposed. "It's fine, but if you'll excuse us, I have to teach John a lesson on SEGA. Ladies," he said as John dragged him away.

"Is he always like that?" Danielle asked Jubilee as the boys sat on the couch in front of the television.

"Who? John? Pretty much. Broody and sullen is his shtick. Doesn't play well with others."

"But he's not a bad guy. He means well," Rogue added.

Just then, John whacked a kid in the back of the head when he asked if they could watch a Christmas special.

"Sometimes," Jubilee corrected.

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Note: For those of you who didn't get the fashion references, Nanette Lepore is very feminine and elegant, Betsey Johnson is bright and quirky, and Michael Kors is all-American sportswear. I thought they lined up with the characters' respective personalities as they will appear in this story. It's not that important, just thought I'd clear it up in case you were wondering.


	3. Chapter 3: No Chance of Retreat

Sorry it took so long to update! I'm still ironing out the kinks. Hopefully, we're getting into the good stuff now. This chapter tries to give you some insight into John. This is basically Pyro as I see him. Hope you like it! Thanks to those who have reviewed. Reviews are welcome and appreciated, but don't feel obligated.

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"_Calm down, temper, temper,  
You shouldn't get so annoyed  
You're acting like a silly little boy…_

_No surrender, no chance of retreat."_

-Arctic Monkeys, "Red Light Indicates the Doors are Secure"

Chapter 3: **No Chance of Retreat**

Bobby was packing to go home and John was watching him, alternately throwing a tennis ball at the wall and taunting Bobby's choices of geeky v-neck sweaters. They had come up tied in Mortal Kombat fights earlier that night and John had gotten bored when Bobby refused to play as anyone but Sub-Zero.

"So what do you think of the new girl?" Bobby asked, folding a particularly hideous orange sweater.

John groaned. "Seems like a bitch."

Bobby frowned. "I thought she was nice. She's cute, anyhow."

"Of course you think she's nice. She was drooling all over you!" John sneered. "She's cute enough, I guess. Her face is alright, but her tits are better." John recalled the curve of her breasts—full Cs at least, he guessed—underneath her fitted grey sweater.

"She was not 'drooling all over me,'" Bobby answered, refusing to address the rest of John's words. "She was being polite."

"Whatever you say. Look, these sorority girls are all the same. Daddy's credit card, big rack and no brain. Bet you she's dumb as a brick."

"Big talk for someone who's failing English," Bobby chuckled.

"I'm not failing," John snapped.

"Yet."

"The point is," John said louder than he meant to, "she's a bitch." Bobby laughed and pulled a Journey t-shirt that John had never seen before out of a drawer. "Oh, God. You're not wearing that, are you?"

"What?" Bobby asked innocently.

---

Over the next few days, John tried his best to ignore the new girl. She wasn't worth his time, he decided. But unfortunately, short of locking himself in his room, the girl proved unavoidable.

Bobby had finally gone home to the Brady Bunch after hanging around a few days to spend more time with Rogue. This meant John had to seek out the company of others, which wasn't necessarily awful. But the other people he could stand, namely Rogue, Jubilee, Peter and Sam Guthrie, were involved in welcoming daddy's little princess to the neighborhood. Pete especially seemed a little too involved. It was revolting the way everyone was going out their way for her.

John hung back as much as he could, trying to avoid conversation with the girl. But he found it impossible not to watch her. He prided himself on his ability to read people and she invited analysis.

Everything out of her mouth was polished and practiced, as if she said it once in her head before saying it aloud. She smiled and laughed like a beauty queen, with her tongue behind her teeth and no light in her eyes. She was polite to a fault, but he wouldn't have called her kind. The way she was treating Rogue was especially maddening. She wasn't being outright mean, but that made it worse to John. Always better to be stabbed in the front. Danielle was trying to politely ignore Rogue, pretending not to hear her when she spoke or giving her as short an answer as possible. Rogue was putting on a brave face, but John could tell she was hurt.

He was quickly liking this girl less and less. She was so fake—and even the veneer she was putting up was not attractive to him. Pete seemed to disagree. He even showed her some of his drawings, which she "oohed" and "ahhed" at in all the appropriate places. He mentally put her on the list of people he couldn't stand, but he wouldn't have to hang out with her after the holidays.

It was Christmas Eve and the professors were throwing a party in the lounge. John was on his way there from his room when he decided to check Rogue's room to see if he might catch her alone. He wanted to talk about Danielle. He didn't find her, but he did find Professor Summers stacking presents wrapped neatly in gold paper outside the girls' door.

"What's all this?" John asked, taking a package from under his teacher's arm and placing it on top of the already tall pile.

"Danielle's Christmas presents. Her father sent them."

Of _course_. John rolled his eyes and headed to the lounge. Princess was really starting to piss him off.

John strode into the Christmas party fully intent on ignoring the spoiled brat. He saw her across the room, laughing with Jubilee, wearing a shiny emerald green dress, black tights, and tall black heels. Most everyone else was wearing jeans, except Jubilee, who was wearing what looked like a bright red, 80s prom dress. But as Jubilee always dressed strangely, John felt she didn't count. Most kids at the Institute didn't have much in the way of nice clothes; few had financial support from their parents and some had had left most of their old clothes at home, having made a hasty escape.

It pissed him off that she paraded around in those expensive clothes when so many of these kids had nothing. It pissed him off more that she got more presents than she could probably count and the last present he had gotten was a sweater from Good Will when he was six. It pissed him off even more that she was taller than him in those heels.

So ignoring her went out the window. Now he wanted to piss her off, make her as angry as he was. He walked up to where she was still chatting to Jubilee and just stood there scowling. Danielle noticed him after a few moments and turned to him with an oh-so-sweet smile.

"Hey, John. Merry Christmas!"

"So I guess Mommy and Daddy never told you that Santa isn't real," he spat.

"What are you talking about?" A small wrinkle formed between her neat eyebrows.

"I'm talking about the mountain of presents sitting outside your room! But it's such a shame that they won't be able to watch you open all those gifts."

"Yeah. Shame." John could see she was biting the inside of her cheek. This encouraged him.

"I can understand their concern though. I mean, you might blow up the Christmas tree."

Danielle said nothing, just kept chewing the inside of her mouth.

"More trouble than you're worth, I guess."

The smile had not died on his face when the buckle on his belt exploded with a loud popping sound. Some people ducked at the sudden noise, just as the shards of metal went flying. Some pinged harmlessly against the walls and dropped to the floor. One embedded itself in Danielle's bare tricep, but she didn't seem to notice, her face still frozen in horrified shock.

When things calmed a few seconds later, everyone was staring at John and Danielle. He just sneered back at them and they laughed. People did not normally laugh when he put on a face like that. Something was wrong.

Ah. His pants were around his ankles. That would do it. Without a functioning belt, John's baggy jeans had fallen. His face got impossibly warm. His ears felt so hot they might melt. He pulled up his pants over his festive Christmas boxers and held them with one hand, reaching into his pocket with the other. Danielle was spouting profuse apologies, but he could barely hear her. He flipped open his lighter and sparked a flame. The girl didn't even know how much danger she was in. The flame from the lighter grew and Danielle's eyes got huge.

"John!" Professor Grey said warningly as she made her way in long strides across the room.

John clenched his teeth and snuffed the flame with a flourish. He stared at Danielle. She looked pathetic, terrified and bleeding all over her nice dress. He raged inside. She'd made him look like an ass in front of everyone.

"Don't play with fire, sweetheart," he growled as menacingly as he could before storming out of the room.

No more ignoring her. War had begun.


End file.
